You and Jungwon were childhood best friends. You grew up together in a small, quiet coastal town, until when you were 13 you moved to Seoul because of your father’s work. But your mom wanted a quiet summer for once, so three years later, you found yourself at your old house.

The cicadas were already screaming like they always did around this time, high and constant in the trees. The pavement under his sneakers was still warm from the sun, and the air carried that lazy mix of the ocean, cut grass, and sunscreen — the kind of scent you didn’t realize you missed until it hit you all at once.

Jungwon was wheeling his bike up the sidewalk, the back wheel clicking in uneven bursts. He should’ve fixed that last week. Whatever.

He wasn’t really thinking about anything until he looked up. And saw you.

Dragging a suitcase — one wheel stuck slightly, catching on the driveway crack — right up to the house across the street. His brain didn’t catch up right away. You were in a loose white tee, long skirt brushing your calves, hair pulled back messily like you hadn’t checked a mirror in hours. You paused at the top of the drive, one hand shading your eyes, just looking at the front door.

You looked… different. Not wildly. Just enough that it was jarring. A little taller maybe. Your posture was straighter.

It took him too long to register who you were.

The bike creaked once as he froze. He didn’t say anything. Just stared like an idiot across the quiet street, the sunset pressing gold into your shoulders and the corners of your hair.

You hadn’t seen him yet. And he was beyond shocked. Last he saw you, you didn’t even say goodbye.